


falter | micheal myers x reader |

by ronnoid



Category: Halloween Movies - All Media Types
Genre: Other, idk i simp for michael and want to write him being a himbo
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-23
Updated: 2020-12-28
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:47:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28258683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ronnoid/pseuds/ronnoid
Summary: you can barely remember how you stumbled upon him, let alone how he ended up in your cramped little apartment. maybe it wasn't much of a choice, under the threat of that impressively sized kitchen knife. you know nothing about him. tall, silent, masked and ominous, probably plotting to kill you. but it feels as if you two were drawn together, at least that's the reason you've begun to tell yourself. you begin to feel a bond with him the more you learn how about him and the longer you share a space with him. maybe it's just some weird form of stokholm syndrome, until your relationship reaches new intensities.your life has taken a strange turn, but at least you're not as lonely anymore.[hi! i'm writing this for funsies and bc i think micheal is rlly neat, so don't take this too seriously! also there is Sexy Times in this jsyk]
Relationships: Michael Myers/Reader
Comments: 11
Kudos: 41





	1. intro

you know absolutely nothing about him. you've tried asking him question after question, trying to get just a little information out of him. dead silent. the only hint you eventually got was his first name. "your name is.." you hesitantly observe, glancing at his barely legible handwriting on the paper. ".. michael." 

without looking at you, he gives a single nod in affirmation. his eyes darkened by the inner shadows of the mask, you cannot tell where he is actually looking. god, that mask is ugly. it's clearly years old, worn out and probably never been washed. you can only see his collarbone and partially his neck, but it was evident that a real dude was under there. curiosity piqued, but convinced he would not respond if you asked to see his face, you didn't bother. 

after attempting to pry him for a while longer, you give up. he doesn't seem willing. you tried asking if he has anywhere else to go with no answer. you suppose he's just.. here. you aren't quite sure why you've accepted his presence to some degree so fast, maybe you are just happy to have some company for once. "are.. you hungry, michael?" you ask the first question that comes to mind in attempt to break the silence. he glances at you briefly, as if to answer, but does not respond and his gaze moves away once more. you sigh out some frustration, but at least he noticed you that time around. maybe he is interested in some food, but unwilling to accept for whatever reason he has. you don't know, you only know this guy's name. 

he doesn't seem to want to move away from his current spot, given how he's been inside your apartment for well over a few hours now and remains stiff as a board. your memories of meeting him remain distorted and foggy, unsure if you found him or if he found you. but that was only a short while ago.. right? was it today? days ago? weeks ago? your head just cannot wrap itself around the current situation, as much as you try to simplify it or make sense of it. but the truth of it is there's some fucking weirdo hanging around in your flat, not giving you any information besides his name and won't communicate in any way other than the notepad you provided him. the worst part is that you can't even remember most of it. your head falls into the palms of your hands, and you let out an audible sigh. 

"that's it.. i've totally lost it. he's not real. he's like.. a hallucination or something. i had too many vitamin gummies and now i'm seeing shit." you mumble to yourself, only to look up and see that michael is still standing there. you still see an abnormally tall man in a filthy navy jumpsuit, an ominous white mask, and a threateningly large kitchen knife stashed in one of his pockets. you still smell the faint stench of burnt wood and rusty copper on him. he still has tracked mud on your floors. you feel as if you can reach out and touch him.. and you do. out of impulse, you step forward to place your hand on his firm chest. he doesn't react much outside of looking down at your arm in what is presumably confusion. your hand glides up to the collar of his jumpsuit, gently gripping the thick cloth for a moment. your hand moves to his cheek, placing your palm against the dry, aging mask that obscures his face. some white paint chips off onto your hand as you pull away. his breathing can be faintly heard from inside the mask, but only at the close proximity you currently are to him. you glance down to notice dirt and bruises on the small portion of skin you can see between where the mask ends and the jumpsuit begins. 

you're surprised he's tolerated you touching him this much up to this point. you're surprised he didn't vanish the moment you went to touch him, like a bad dream. you aren't waking up in your bed like nothing happened, you're still here. he's still here. you stare at michael in the deafening silence as your arm lowers back to your side. his gaze moves from your arm to the rest of you. fear jolts through your body and pierces your chest for a split second. fuck, if looks could kill. you wait for him to do something, anything at all.. but he just stays put. you break the gaze to look out the window. the cloudy sky had turned into a dark blue, indicating that night will soon fall. michael doesn't seem to be going anywhere, much to your chagrin. you aren't mentally prepared to deal with this guy through the night, knife and all. the anxiety is rushing up your chest, making your head feel fuzzy and your chest feel weighted. your arms shake, your palms sweat. the weight of the situation is hitting you like a truck as the shock finally melts away into full-fledged fear. it happens faster than you can process. but you feel powerless. he won't respond to anything you need to know, nor is he willing to move. you are afraid of what would happen if you tried to force him to leave. 

you feel your whole body feeling unstable, the unshakable feeling of tears coming on. you put your eyes back on michael, uttering the only words that raced through your head to him. "what.. do.. you.. want?" 

no answer.

"say something. anything." you beg. "please.. fucking do something.. get lost.. move a fucking muscle.. what do.. you want from me?" you begin to crumble, tears falling in rapid succession. if he was going to kill you, you kind of wished he'd just get it over with already. 

no answer. 

you collapse to the floor, knees brought up to your chest. "what do you want.. what do you.. want.." you feel the room begin to spin. your vision blurs to where michael only appears as an abstract, navy blue blob. the dead-eyed man looks down at you and cocks his head slightly at the scene you were making. 

"what.. do.." your eyes struggle to remain open as you quickly succumb to the intensity of your fear. "you.. you.." 

the room goes black.


	2. part 2.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> surprisingly, you aren't dead. michael is still here, and seems a little more open to communication today. you take the opportunity to try and learn more about him, though he is still a tightly closed book. therefore, you try to learn through observation.   
> you begrudgingly accept that he's here, for however long he feels like staying. though, you notice that you are quickly becoming more accustomed to his presence. you decide to give michael a new way to communicate, if he's willing.

you wake up in the daytime, propped up against your sofa. your eyes take a few moments to adjust, and you wait until the room stops spinning to sit up. your head pounds with an oncoming headache, your chest feels heavy and you are drenched in sweat. your memories from the night before are limited, but you remember that strange man.. standing- oh, he's right there. looking down at you. not expecting him to be right in front of you, you gasp lightly and your body jolts in surprise. your gaze slowly drifts upward towards michael. you aren't necessarily happy to see him, but at least he's spared your life thus far. you notice the notepad in his hand, in which he then turns it around to show you a page, in messy writing.

'you fell.' is what he wrote.

you sigh. now you remember what happened. the stress of the situation got you bad, causing panic unlike you've ever felt. you must have passed out. though, it would be strange if you intentionally passed out in a more comfortable position against your sofa like this. whatever, perhaps you crawled here and simply do not remember. it's hard to believe that michael would have moved you. your memory from the past couple days has been so spotty, you decide not to think too hard on it.  
you look back to michael. "fell.. sure. we'll just say that." you slowly bring yourself up onto your feet. it takes a few seconds for you to regain your balance, but you steady yourself. you look around. nothing seems to be out of place in your flat as far as you can see. it seems michael didn't do much while you were out cold. he continues to look at you as you scan the room.  
your throat feels incredibly dry.. you don't suppose he will do much if you are out of the room for just a minute or two.. right? you drag your feet across the hardwood into your kitchen to go get some water in your system. upon grabbing a glass, you notice some empty wrappers on the counter. it seems apparent that your "guest" has found your snack stash overnight, and did not hesitate to take what he wanted. you feel angrier about him eating your snacks than him being in your flat in the first place. "that.. bastard!"

you slug a couple cups worth of water, and exit the kitchen. michael was still standing about, staring off into whatever. upon hearing your footsteps, he looks at you for a moment to acknowledge your return. you move past him to sit on your sofa. as you sit down, you prop your elbow up on your knee and rest your cheek into the palm of your hand. you observe michael as he slowly navigates your apartment. he takes interest in a few things scattered about. books, electronics, miscellaneous items on display. "hey, don't drop that." you warn him as he interacts with your more fragile items, but he seems to have tuned you out again. after his brief bit of exploration, he turns back to you. you look up at him. "what? can i help you?"  
michael takes the notepad once more and scribbles something onto a page. he turns it around to reveal a single word, 'food?'.

you glare at him. "oh, hungry again after eating all my snacks?" you ask in a sarcastic tone. though, you aren't surprised that he doesn't react. "can't you make anything for yourself? you're a grown man.. i think."  
michael looks at the kitchen door, then back to you. you huff. "really..? ugh.. fine." you get up off the couch, and walk into your kitchen. you motion for michael to follow, in which he does. you would be lying if you said you weren't hungry yourself.  
you aren't exactly a master chef, but you can make some easy stuff that tastes decent. you go into your cupboard and pull out instant rice and chicken broth. you switch your stove on and pour some water into a pot. michael watches you intently. with him standing so close now, you notice how this guy absolutely towers over you. he's gotta be close to seven feet tall. his immense height and muscular structure simply adds on to his already intimidating presence. the stench of burnt wood and rust wafts off of him. you feel a slight chill run down your spine as you add your rice to the boiling water.  
while you do that, michael begins to lose focus on you and wander around the kitchen. he opens a couple drawers to inspect what's inside. he opens one drawer to spot a kitchen knife of similar size to his. he picks it up for a moment, examining the sharp appliance. it's in much better shape than his own. new. shiny. no dried blood. maybe nobody would notice if he.. swiped this spiffy new one and just swapped out the old one. before he could make the switch, he hears you beckon him back over.   
"hey. quit going through my shit and come over here." you say, taking out two bowls and pouring in an even enough mix of rice and broth into both. as michael, much to his disappointment, abandons his plan and approaches you, you offer the bowl to him. "this is yours." he slowly takes the bowl of soup from you, and looks down at it.   
the bowl felt hot in his palms, though he didn't seem to react to how the heat stung his skin. through his mask, he could faintly get a whiff of the broth. he doesn't remember the last time he ate something warm like this. he also didn't realize just how hungry he was until he was given some food.   
"well, are you just going to stare at it or-" before you could finish your sentence, michael turns away from you for a moment, pulls his mask up to just above his nose, and drinks the contents of the bowl in what has to be some type of record time. once he finishes, he pulls his mask back down and faces you once more.   
".. damn, dude." you mutter. you have barely made a dent in your own portion. this guy must be fucking starving. you feel a little bad. "um.. want another one?"  
michael pauses for a moment, then gives a single nod. as long as you're offering to feed him, he'll take any chance he can get to get some form of sustenance. the opportunity doesn't arise very often for him.   
you have a couple scoops worth of rice left. you take another can of chicken broth and heat it up, add it all back into the bowl, and hand it back to michael. again, he turns away from you and drinks it in under a minute. he places the empty bowl on the table next to him. he's fairly satisfied now. he turns back around and looks at you.   
"all good?" you ask. michael looks on for another moment, then simply turns and exits the kitchen. you just kind of assume that means he's done. you are now alone in your kitchen. you take much longer than him to finish up your soup. 

you eventually exit your kitchen, looking around your living room. wait a minute, where's michael? "..michael?"   
maybe he decided that some food was enough and left? maybe he was just some weird homeless guy looking for a place to crash? you consider these options, until you enter your bedroom to find that michael has, in fact, not gone anywhere.   
he's decided to explore the shelf in your bedroom, scattering books and other items on your floor that he's seemingly already inspected. "wh-.." is this guy a fucking child? "hey! stop throwing my shit everywhere!"   
michael pauses and looks at you. he picks up the notepad he's brought with him and shows you a page. 'what that?'. he then motions towards an electronic tablet on your bed.   
"what, the tablet?" you walk over and pick it up. you turn the screen on and show it to him. "you know what this is?"   
michael stares at the screen. he honestly has no clue what this thing is. glowing screen box? that you tap and make words with? there's moving pictures inside of it, too? he gives the screen a single rough tap. nothing happens. he gives it another, rougher tap.  
"easy, tough guy." you warn. "don't break it."   
you look down at michael's notepad, and suddenly get an idea. "hang on.." you pull the tablet away from michael for a moment, and make a few taps on the screen. you open an app with just a keyboard, a blank space and a "speak" button. you offer the tablet back to michael. "type something in, and hit that button."  
a little hesitant of the strange new device, michael awkwardly holds the tablet while tapping a few letters on the keyboard. he's making words, but what does the button do? he taps the "speak" button, and a robotic male voice says the word "okay". this thing can make words and speak words, too!   
you smirk a bit. "now you won't need to write everything out anymore."  
michael hits the button again, making the voice go "okay" again. he proceeds to tap the button multiple times.  
"okay."  
"okay."  
"okay."  
"okay."  
you react with a slight, nervous laughter. "oh, geez.."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for sticking around! michael may or may not have been given way too much power with the text to speech

**Author's Note:**

> lmk your feelings so far! this is only the beginning, things will get more fleshed out later on  
> thanks for visiting <3


End file.
